


Each Spoken Word

by Val_Creative



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canon Era, Explicit Sexual Fantasy, F/F, First Meetings, Flirting, Galaxy Garrison, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character of Color, Lesbian Romelle (Voltron), Mild Language, Nudity, Pining, Post-Season/Series 07, Romantic Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Veronica POV (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Veronica prefers to be ridiculous with her.





	Each Spoken Word

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER RAREPAIR! YAY! I DO LOVE THEM! Especially the wlw ones! This is for the " **[UST](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7f85d4ad6ba764d0577e16650f48e504/tumblr_phydc4FkMB1qh1cr6o1_540.png)** " space for my NSFW Genre - [Voltron Bingo](https://voltronbingo.tumblr.com/) card and I'm so close to getting a whole blackout on it! Three more fics! If you like Romelle and Veronica, give me a holler! Any thoughts/comments appreciated! I got really sick recently and hearing from you guys would cheer me up a lot! <3

 

*

As ridiculous as it may sound, Veronica and her brother have similar tastes in women.

Lance refers himself to a _heart breaker_ and dates anyone when it suits his mood, women or men or _any_ gender they may be that ignites Lance's obnoxiously aggressive flirting — which is the difference between them.

Veronica finds it hard enough to date while a commanding officer and taking the leadership role at the Galaxy Garrison during warfare, let alone being the _only_ lesbian she's aware of here.

Flirting doesn't come that easily.

As she's heading to the mess hall, Veronica hesitates in the sectioned-off corridor and peers over the rims of her glasses, watching in barely concealed amusement as Lance drags _another_ girl with him to show off the Garrison's high-tech refuge. This one might be as pretty as the one with silvery, kinky hair, and they both have the same elf-like ears. However, she's shorter and has less of a bust, wearing a vibrantly patterned tunic of baby blue and pink and white. There's more _excitement_ in her broadening grin.

"Who is this?" Veronica calls out, directing Lance's attention to her. He waves from a distance, turning back to the girl and seemingly encouraging her to follow him. _Nice catch, little brother._

She's never seen eyes like this pale violet.

"This is Romelle," Lance announces, nodding to the girl who bashfully tucks her arms behind her and lowers her gaze when Veronica glances over her. Oh, she's very, _very_ pretty and it's getting to be a pain in the ass to be this gay and lonely. "One of the last living Alteans… kinda like Allura was?"

Veronica elbows him. "What ever happened to _Allura_ or did you forget her already?" she coos.

It takes a too-long moment, but Lance makes a face and raises his hands, crossing and uncrossing them frantically. " _No_! No! Romelle isn't—Allura is _here_ , geez, she's—"

"Preoccupied with your officers, I'm afraid," Romelle interrupts, his voice tinged with a hoarse and unidentifiable accent. Veronica feels her chest furl with heat and an aching, unnamed longing when Romelle's cheeks dimple. Normally she wouldn't go for extremely pale or skinny girls, but Veronica cannot deny there is something so _alive_ and contagious about Romelle's presence. "It's very nice to meet you…?" Romelle trails off, inclining towards Veronica and lifting her eyebrows as if expecting a reply.

Her mouth hangs open, and Veronica regains her composure before Lance notices. "Veronica," she answers, holding out her hand formally for Romelle to shake. "But call me Roni. I'm Lance's older sister."

"We were heading to—"

"Don't worry, Lance. I can show Romelle to her quarters while you grab us some dinner," Veronica says smoothly, encircling her arm snugly to Romelle's waist and pushing her lightly towards the bunkers.

He grumbles, rubbing his neck and walking down Veronica's corridor, making a left. She makes a purposeful right turn, heading further and further away from the noise of everybody else. At first, Romelle chatters on about traveling in the Red Lion and fighting off her enemies, separating from Veronica and leaping and kicking high in the air for emphasis and giggling loudly into her hands, walking backwards carelessly.

She seems completely oblivious to Veronica's inner thoughts, bouncing on her heels when they halt in front of one of the steel door-entrances. "Here's the code," Veronica informs her, allowing Romelle to peer over her shoulder and tapping in the number-code slowly. "And here's my quarters."

Romelle hums out questioningly, gripping onto Veronica's shoulders.

"I thought you said we are going to mine?"

Veronica offers a polite but friendly smile. "It is," she explains. "Unfortunately, we have to double and sometimes _triple_ down on sleep occupants while this is all going on." It's not a lie. Veronica doesn't want the residential counsel to decide that arrangement for her when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. "You don't mind, do you? I mean… I've already given you the code…"

"I don't mind!" Romelle shakes her head wildly, stepping around the woman and glimpsing around, oohing and aahing at nothing particular. "Oh _queeznak_ , it's bigger than I expected!" she proclaims, hurrying to the sink and mirror by the far, opposite wall. "Oh, oh! What's _this_ do!?"

Romelle's finger jabs the big, mint-colored button without any hesitation, flattening it down. A bunch of minty green liquid spews onto Romelle, covering most of her face and tunic, soiling her.

"Toothpaste supply," Veronica says, chuckling benevolently as Romelle blinks and whines out. She rummages through one of the suitcases. "Here, you're a mess. Take this." Veronica passes her an older, cadet-style Garrison uniform, tutting sympathetically while the girl combs out her ashy-blonde hair, still pouting.

She doesn't expect Romelle to slip off her belt expertly within seconds, whipping off her clothing to the floor before Veronica can avert her gaze. _She's_ … there are no words. Romelle's breasts are plump and round and curvy, but smaller than Veronica's own. Her nipples a gorgeous, ripe pink. A large, triangular growth of ashy-blonde hair between Romelle's shapely, overly pale thighs. She's not even a _snack_ — Romelle may as well be the goddamn five-course _meal_. No, really.

Veronica feels her jaw loosening again, threatening to drop her mouth open again.

"Are you a princess?" she asks, trying to sound offhanded.

Romelle narrows her eyes, as if unsure of what she heard. "N-no," she answers embarrassed, visibly flushing all-over. Veronica's eyes go from Romelle's ears to neck and shoulders to her belly. "I'm from the Colony."

"You look like a princess to me…"

It's unfair how _badly_ Veronica wants to kiss her, until they morph out of their senses, cherishing every little hitching gasp spilling from Romelle's kiss-bitten lips. Has she ever encountered a vibrator? Veronica can imagine her holding her tightly, Romelle's naked bum on her lap, teasing her sleek, metallic-colored vibrator against Romelle's outer folds until she's _wet_ and ready, before fucking her on it.

But that's not how this goes. Veronica wants to know her first, keeping her hands folded to herself and smiling and laughing as Romelle chatters once more, this time about _Bandor_ and an old Altean witch's tale about never clipping your toenails at night or risking forty _deca-phoebs_ of bad luck.

She's _ridiculous_ , brilliantly vibrant in each spoken word and engaging.

Veronica prefers being ridiculous with her.

*

 


End file.
